Author's Note-
This chapter is rating R for violence. Please heed your region's laws regarding age and ratings. The author of this fanfic, as well as Rowling, Scholastic, WB, and any other entity owning the Harry Potter trademark are not responsible for minors reading adult material they shouldn't be.

10.
On the uninhabited island of Staffa, Fingal's Cave derives its name from the legendary third century Scots/Irish king, Fingal (Fionn mac Cumhail). The sea cave is similar to the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland; both are formed entirely from hexagonally-jointed basalt. Surprisingly, the caves are rather inviting. Its play of colour is magnificent, combining tints of warm red, brown, and maroon. Seaweeds and lichens paint the cave green and gold while the lime that filtered through has crusted the pillars with pure, snowy white.

The floor of the cave isn't visible through the green of the sea. Columns rising on either side add a regularity so perfect it looks made more by the hand of man rather than a work of Nature. The whisper of the sea won the cave a Gaelic nickname meaning "the Cave of Music". Muggle Speleologists attribute the eerie sounds to the echoes of waves that reverberate within Fingal's Cave's cathedral-like caverns. But Sirius Black knows it to be old magic – powerful magic that resided in the depths of the caves long before man began to walk upright.

He lay on a large slab of soft rock, his hands behind his head. Buckbeak stood knee-deep in the water, peering down in the hopes of finding wayward salmon. Occasionally, he'd click his neb before fully submerging his head, shaking it heartily. Sirius watched the beast, more out of habit than interest. At least the animal had stopped chasing the seals and sea birds that tend to haunt the cave. That was truly annoying. Hedwig sat upon a column of stone, impatiently, yet obediently. She wanted to fly back to her owner, with or without a return letter. She'd hoot and flap her wings, restlessly. Sirius turned away from Buckbeak's attempts at procuring a meal to deliver the snowy owl a decisive scowl.

"I told you, Hedwig," he called out, exasperatingly, "it's too dangerous to send you back just yet."

A twelve-year stretch at Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit did little to stave off his paranoia, but the letters written by his godson worried him to no end. Parchments and copies of The Daily Prophet were strewn about, smudged with the dirt from Sirius' fingers. He needn't read Harry's posts anymore, they were already memorized – at least, all of the important bits were.

Dear Sirius,
... A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he?

And the follow-up letter hardly made matters any better with talk of dreams where Voldemort murdered a Muggle caretaker. Harry's mother was Muggleborn. Sirius understood enough about the genetics of magic to know that sometimes a family of Muggles, on their way to producing their first fully-magical child, would often produce offspring who, while not wizards or witches, were gifted with 'the sight' – psychic, for lack of a better word. Did Lily have vatic dreams? Sirius racked his brain trying to remember if he ever heard Prongs or Moony mention it. Did she pass on the psychic trait to her son, then? Were these just the dreams of a scared fourteen-year-old boy, or something far more prophetic?

But it was Harry's most recent correspondence almost set Sirius over the edge with worry.

I bet you've heard by now that my name came out of the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. You can relax though, I'm not competing.

Yes, he had read about the scandal of the 'Fourth Champion' after nicking a copy of The Daily Prophet on his most recent excursion to Hogsmead as Padfoot. It was part of the reason he decided to hide out closer to Hogwarts in the Scotland caves. Certainly, the innate magic of his temporary home would serve to soothe his still-frazzled nerves and clear the chaotic thoughts his mind. However, it was its proximity to Harry that ultimately made the small cluster of caves an ideal temporary home for Sirius. Competing or no, Harry's name coming out of that Goblet was no accident. Someone was trying to kill the boy... again.

Sitting up with a start, Sirius took quill to parchment (the back of one of Harry's letters), and wrote:

Harry -
I can't say everything I would like to in this letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself. While you're around Dumbledore and Moody, I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can.

Sirius

He stared at his writing for a moment, wanting to make sure it conveyed the urgency needed without sounding too cryptic; he didn't want to scare the lad to death. As he rolled up the parchment, Hedwig's yellow eyes seemed to glow; she was eager to spread her wings and take flight. She had been in that cave far too long. Sirius extended his arm and made a clicking noise with his tongue. Hedwig flew to the outstretched limb, landing gingerly with one leg held up so to accept the post.

"Now you be careful, Hedwig," he said, pointing at her sternly. "Make sure Harry receives this letter. Do your best not to be intercepted."

Hedwig clicked her beak derisively, taking offence at being admonished so. Within moments, the owl had disappeared into the sky beyond Sirius' view.

§

Harry burst through the Gryffindor common room, tears falling from puffy, red eyes. Without so much as looking at his friends, he ran to the dormitory and into the fourth-years' sleeping quarters. Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan abandoned their game of Exploding Snap, following Harry, with Neville and Dean hot on their heels.

Opening the door to their bedrooms, Ron was struck by how silent the room was, considering Harry's hysterics. When he tried to pull back the drapes to Harry's four-poster, he found that they were locked.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Ron asked, his voice soft yet coloured with concern.

"Come on, mate," Seamus added. "You can tell us."

Ron pressed his ear against the canopy, straining to hear something – anything. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean draw his wand.

"It's warded," Dean said. "I can try a Finite—"

But before he could finish the sentence, Seamus reached over and pulled Dean's arm down. "No," he said. "Best t'let him be. He wants his privacy. He'll be down for supper soon. We should go."

Seamus and Dean walked out of the room, leaving a worried Neville and Ron behind.

"Harry, it's me – Ron," Ron said, feeling a slight pang at being 'locked out' of Harry's bed with the others. They were, after all, best friends. Ron thought that Harry would confide in him anything and everything that mattered. Yet, here he stood on the other side of the canopied divan with Neville Longbottom. Selfish though it was, he couldn't help but be offended – and hurt. Ron turned and walked away, stopping at the door as if he was going to say something else. Instead, he simply took a deep breath and left the bedroom, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Lost in his thoughts as he walked down the stairs leading to the common room, Ron almost collided with Colin Creevey.

"Oh, sorry there, Colin. I wasn't watching where I was…" Ron stopped at the sight of the third-year: saucer-like eyes bloodshot, lips puffy and red, and hair dishevelled. Colin's cheeks were stained with thin streams of dried tears along his flushed cheeks. "Are you… are you okay?"

"Is… is Harry in his room?" Colin asked between shuddered breaths. He looked around Ron, as if hoping to find Harry standing behind him.

"Yeah, he's… he's in bed," Ron answered.

Colin made to walk past the redhead when Ron reached out and held him at bay.

"He's warded his bed, Colin -- a Silencing Charm and a Locking Charm. We've tried to bypass it, but we couldn't." Ron knew this to be a lie, of course, but he had this feeling deep in his stomach that Colin was the last person Harry wanted to see.

"Do you know why Harry's upset?" Ron asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Colin fidgeted, refusing to make eye contact. "I… think it best he told you."

"I think it best you tell me. Right now."

Even as he said the words, his grip on Colin's shoulders tightened.

"Ow!" Colin cried. "You're hurting me!"

"What did you do to Harry?" Ron barked, shaking the younger lad.

"It's none of your business! Let go of me!"

"I'm making it my business!"

"Let go of my brother!" cried a squeaky voice from down the stairwell.

Dennis, the younger Creevey brother, managed to make his way around Colin with fierce determination in his eyes. Suddenly, Ron felt the sharp kick of little feet at his shins. His grip loosened. Colin shrugged Ron's hands away.

"Don't you ever do that again!" Colin screamed as he fled up the stairs to the third-years' flooring. Dennis quickly followed, but not before delivering a stomping blow to Ron's toes for good measure.

"Brute!" he yelled before running after his brother.

Ron hopped on one foot, clutching at the other. He wanted to go after Colin and force him to tell him everything he knew about why Harry was upset. But he already knew why Harry was distressed. Harry was heart-broken and it was Colin's fault.

§

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"Oh, bless you Marauders, for this wonderful gift."

"George, can you imagine our lives without The Map?"

"It'd have been a right bit more difficult, I'd imagine."

"Do you see them?"

"Not yet, Lee."

"Oi! There she is!"

"Lee, quiet it down or we'll be forced to gag you."

"Which one is it?"

"Angelina. And she's heading up to the seventh floor."

"D'you think she's going to The Room?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure she is, Lee."

"How do we even know it's a room?"

"What else could it be, George?"

"And there's Katie. Notice how she follows from a … safe distance, eh?"

"Who'd a'thought those two, eh?"

"Oh, trust me, Fred… I've thought about it many a'night. Toss in a side of Hannah Abbott..."

"Too right, Lee. Too right."

"Now, if we only knew how to get in The Room…"

"Who's that there?"

"Who?"

"That. The one walking towards Headmaster Dumbledore's office?"

"… 'Peter Pettigrew'…"

"That name sounds familiar…"

"Is he that fat, lump-of-a-boy…? Slytherin? Second-year?"

"Hrmm… Dunno."

"Don't care, either. Look! Angelina and Katie have 'disappeared' from the Map. That means –"

"That they are in… The Room!"

"Oh, to be a fly on that wall…"

"Or a spider on the ceiling…"

"Or the knickers under their robes…"

"Ha! Good one, Lee."

"Thanks, Fred."

"Okay. So, new mission: How to get in The Room...?"

§

It's about half past eleven when I wake up. My stomach and back are sore from crying and my eyes still feel swollen. I remind myself to apologise to Ron later, I really didn't mean to shut him out, but I just couldn't bear to tell him everything, not if it meant losing him. I don't know what I'd do if I lost Ron, too.

I'm tired beyond belief, even after my long 'nap', and all I really want to do is go back to sleep and forget about this day, Colin, and Cedric. I thought nothing could compare to the night Professor Dumbledore took away the Mirror of Erised or the night I was told Sirius had betrayed my parents, leading to their murder. Today may not have been as bad as that, but it's pretty close. In spite of everything that's happened, however, I am quite chuffed to see Charlie. Admittedly, the thought doesn't leave me feeling butterflies as it had before. I haven't seen him since the summer at The Burrow, yet the memory of our time together is as fresh as the day it happened. It's easy to talk to Charlie. With the others, there's always… something. I'm always worried of scaring Ron to death with some of the things I'd like to talk about – my fears, my hopes, my dreams. With the twins, well… I really don't talk to them. I'd much rather listen, even with their disorienting 'twin-act'. Percy? Well, all he wants to do is give me advice and it's more of the 'bookish' sort, really. Not quite my bag. I've never really talked to Bill, the oldest Weasley brother, but I imagine it'd be proper.

Charlie, however, is another story altogether. Not only did he recall great stories about his Hogwarts Quidditch days (including some amusing tales about Oliver Wood's first year on the team) but he gave me pointers about what it takes to be a Quidditch team captain, even offering to put in a good word with Professor McGonagall for me. But most of all, he listened. He listened to me talk about things that I couldn't talk about with Ron: liking girls, liking boys, missing Sirius even though I just met him and barely knew him. We talked about family, love, and what it meant to be alone. Charlie held back on the latter point; I couldn't help feeling there was something he wasn't telling me. His eyes would get glossy when mentioning Oliver Wood, which lead me to wonder about my former Quidditch captain. But I didn't press the matter.

I shake myself from my memory upon realising the time: quarter of midnight. I'm expected to meet Charlie in fifteen minutes! I draw my wand from my pocket and whisper, "Finite Incantatem," and I feel the wards dissolve to nothingness. Pulling back the curtains of my four-poster, I survey the room. I can hear the individual sounds of all five of my dorm mates sleeping as distinctively as if they were talking to me. Quietly opening the chest that contains most of my clothes and personal belongings, I dig deep past the holed socks and tattered jeans until I find my Invisibility Cloak, bundled around some Oxford shirts. Throwing it over myself, I creep downstairs through the empty common room and make my way to the main entrance.

The grounds are very dark, except the lights from Hagrid's hut and the nearby Beauxbaton carriage.

I continue east around the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest until I start seeing a golden glow grow brighter. Once I've gone so far that the castle and lake are completely obscured by the ominous trees, I see that the 'glow' is from a series of bonfires, set up within an encampment. I walk around a thicket of trees where I can get a better view of the campsite.

Small huts surround the perimeter of the bivouac, men darting around the fires, some casting spells at the dimmer ones to make the flares soar to the sky. I continue to walk towards the campsite, my eyes scouring the scene in the hopes of spotting Charlie. Instead, I see two large figures and can hear the boom, bark-of-a-laugh that I recognize instantly as belonging to Hagrid. I see him standing arm-in-arm with Madame Maxime, staring longingly at three mounds of… something in the centre of the camp. Occasionally, I hear what sounds like air escaping from under the Hogwarts train, but far deeper and resonating. Intrigued, I walk closer.

"Is'n' it beautiful?" Hagrid says.

"Oh, yes," Madame Maxime agrees. "Zey are lovely."

A small man stands on the other side of Hagrid. Actually, he may not be small, but anyone standing next to the Gamekeeper would certainly look quite little in comparison.

"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asks Madame Maxime.

"Oh, oui!" she replies, looking as though it was her birthday and Christmas at the same time.

Finally, the man beside them speaks. "Don't get too close, Hagrid. They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know. I've seen this Horntail do forty!"

I recognise the voice instantly: Charlie.

"Oh, we won' be botherin' them none, believe me," Hagrid says, leading Madame Maxime deeper into the camp and closer to the bonfires.

"Oh, and I've counted the eggs, Hagrid," Charlie calls after him. "So no funny business!"

Charlie remains where he is as Hagrid and Madame Maxime disappear amidst the flourish of activity and the shadows cast by the fires. He seems at a loss; I bet he's waiting for me.

"Psssst!" I hiss.

Charlie doesn't move.

"Pssst! Hey!"

Charlie looks to the left.

"Charlie! Over here!" I whisper as loud as I can.

He looks the other way, but still doesn't turn around.

"No! Behind you!"

Finally, he turns around. I pop my head from under the cloak, giving him quite the fright.

"Great Odin's Beard!" Charlie exclaims, almost falling backwards. His eyes bulge out at the sight of me. I forget he doesn't know I've an Invisibility Cloak. All he sees is my bodiless head floating about.

"It's me!" I can't help but laugh at his expression. It's priceless!

"My god! Don't ever do that to me again," Charlie admonishes, walking towards me with his hand over his heart, as if to steady it. "Uhm, Harry… Where's the rest of you?"

"Oh, yeah, right." I whip off the Invisibility Cloak and my full body comes into view.

"You never told me you had one of those," Charlie says.

As he gets closer, I suddenly find that I can't look him straight in his blue eyes; I've always felt like he could read my thoughts. His face is wider than Ron's and Percy's and even the twins, even though he's built more like Fred and George. The shortest of the Weasley brothers, he's also the stockiest. An occasional breeze whips by, pulling his shirt tight on his body, revealing muscles that I hardly knew could exist on a boy.

"Yeah, well… Wouldn't want the whole world to know, would I?"

"No, I suppose not," he replies, looking around nervously.

"So, what's going on here?" I ask, not wanting to give Charlie the chance to say something like 'oh, I've changed my mind – go back to the castle' or 'Hagrid's here, better scurry off'. I've been rejected twice today, I could hardly stand another.

"Oh, well… the First Task."

I try and wrap my brain around that. "But… you're… you're a… dragon tamer. So, that would mean that the First Task is…"

"Yep," he says with a smile.

"Bloody hell! Dragons!"

"Three different breeds, even. Follow me, we'll get closer so you can see them. But," he adds, waging a finger at me, "you must promise that you won't tell anyone. Not Ginny, not Hermione, not the twins, and certainly not 'Mr. Mouth' Ron."

"I… I promise."

"Come on, then. We won't get too close." He moves to wrap an arm around me. In that instant, I remember the nightmare I had of him ripping my skin and burning me. My muscles instinctively tense as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me closer to the three 'mounds' – which must be the dragons. He smells of burnt wood and dirt, not altogether bad. In short order, the unwarranted 'fear' I just felt melts away; the weight of his arm draped over me is… comforting.

We stop at a well-lit area, where the shadows of the bonfire no longer obscure our vision, and that's when I see them. Three large, scaly dragons lie asleep next to each other, chained at the neck and the leg and a large clamp around their waist. I hear the loud 'train whistle' sound and realise that it's one of the dragons breathing when I see steam shoot out of its snout.

"My… god."

That's all I can say, really. These beasts are magnificent, beautiful, yet terrifying. Even in their sleep, they radiate power – the likes of which I've never seen before, even in Lord Voldemort! I snap my mouth shut after realising that I've been gaping at the sleeping creatures since they came into view.

"Beautiful, yeah?" Charlie asks, his arm still draped over my shoulder.

"Yeah." My answer is little more than a whisper. I doubt he even heard me.

One of the dragons' head lifts up as it reaches out with one of its clawed paws. Its enormous jaws open to reveal a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. Talons on its hand separate and stretch. A deafening roar-like sound fills the base. The other wizards stop what they are doing and stare warily at the dragon. I find myself leaning into Charlie more and his grip on my shoulder tightens. I'm scared the beast is awake – and hungry – and am fully prepare to take my leave. However, the dragon simply snaps his mouth closed, repositions itself, and resumes with its droning, slightly-hypnotic snoring.

"Was that… was that a…"

"A yawn?" Charlie finishes for me. "Yeah."

"If that's a yawn, I'd hate to hear a roar," I say.

Charlie laughs. "Yeah, a fully-grown Horntail could shatter the windows of Hogwarts Castle with the full brunt of its call, especially if in heat. They've been surprisingly docile since we got here, though. We were expecting to have to keep them heavily sedated with potions and sleep spells. But…"

"What kinds are they?"

Charlie points to the one that 'yawned'. "That one is the Hungarian Horntail. They are vicious bastards. And possessive. On more than one occasion, a nesting mother thought a dragon rider was one of her children. Couldn't get the poor bloke for weeks. And dragons feed their children much like ordinary birds do. So, you can imagine what he had to do for food."

I shudder at that thought.

Charlie points to the dragon with long, pointed horns. "You see the silvery-blue one?"

I nod.

"That's the Swedish Short-Snout. And the red one with spikes around its face…? That's the Chinese Fireball."

"Wicked."

"Let's go over here," Charlie says, leading me to a small embankment of stones. He sits down and pats the seat next to him. His smile is disarming, pleasant and warm; I can't help but blush.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you and all," Charlie says, looking at the sleeping dragons. "But, what are you doing here? Professor Dumbledore would kill if he found out – not to mention my mum."

"I… I got your letter," I reply. "The one that said to meet you here at midnight."

Charlie turns to look at me, his lips pursed to the side in confusion.

"Letter," he says. "What letter?"

"You know? 'Come to the field just behind Hagrid's hut, east of The Forbidden Forest. Come at midnight when everyone's asleep. Make sure no one knows.' The one you sent a couple days ago."

A serious expression takes hold of Charlie's face; I don't much like it. There's concern there and not a little disbelief.

"Harry… I didn't send any letter."

"What? But that's—"

"I didn't even tell Ron, Fred or George I was coming. Speaking of which, are you sure it wasn't just a prank from the twins?"

It takes me a moment to process this. Suddenly, we hear wizards shouting. From behind us, other dragon tamers run towards the bed of sleeping dragons.

"Come on, Charlie," one shouts back to us. "Agnes' awake!"

Charlie hops to his feet but doesn't run towards the commotion. "It's the Chinese Fireball." He kneels down in front of me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Harry, listen to me. I didn't send you a letter but I need you to take that letter to Professor Dumbledore. Be quick about it. Put on your Invisibility Cloak and go right now."

"Okay." I stand up, looking around Charlie. I can see the ridge-nosed, red dragon looking around. It seems… disoriented, but I realise I'm not the best person to make judgements considering I've never seen an 'oriented' dragon. Suddenly, it whips its head towards the Forbidden Forest and stares. It huffs a jet of billowy smoke through its nostrils and I swear its eyes glowing. Is that natural, I wonder?

Just as I begin to make my way back to the castle, I see a bolt of red energy flare from the woods, striking the chains of the Chinese Fireball. The fuss of the wizards intensifies as it becomes obvious that one of the dragon's legs is free to move about. A second blast from the forest shatters the restraints on the torso and a third shatters one of the front leg restraints.

"Where's those blasts coming from?" I hear one of the dragon tamers shout.

Confusion and chaos is heightened when the dragon attempts to stand. Its movements no longer fully constricted, it growls and snarls as it lurches upwards, trying to break the other chains that still bind it. This, of course, wakes up the other sleeping dragons, who starts snapping and roaring along with Agnes. Energy flares from wands as the tamers attempt to stun the beasts. The spells bounce of their hard shells in blazes of coloured sparks.

"It's no use!" one of the wizards screams.

Charlie runs back towards me, shooing me away with his arms. "Go, Harry – Now!"

Without a second glance, I make to run.

"Charlie – look out!" I hear from behind.

I turn to find the Chinese Fireball within feet of us.

"It's attacking Charlie!"

"Everyone – Stunning Spells on two!"

"One – two!"

I hear the blasting of spells, but the creature hardly notices. Its beady, eerie eyes are fixed on us – on Charlie.

"Watch out!" Charlie cries, pushing me away just in time as a tail landing heavily on the spot where we stood. The impact shakes the very ground and echoes around us. Charlie is quick to get to his feet, shooting jinx after jinx at the advancing dragon. I, however, am the exact opposite. I'm frozen in place, unable to tear my eyes away from the beast, yet unable to get up and run.

"Harry – run! Go!" Charlie calls back, still firing off hexes.

He's unable to dodge the next attack, the dragon's tail whipping around and connecting with the redhead, tossing him aside like a rag doll. Charlie lands bodily against a large stone.

"Get up," I whisper. "Get up."

But Charlie doesn't get up. He lies there motionless, still.

Slowly my head turns to face the dragon, its gaze still locked on me. That's when I realize the beast wasn't after Charlie – it was after me.

"Young man," I hear a wizard shout to me. "Crouch down! Crouch down!"

He yells something in Latin as I roll over on my stomach, ball up as tightly as I can, and wait. My knees are tucked under my chin and my arms cover the back of my head. The ground quakes with every step the dragon takes towards me. Time seems to slow to an excruciating crawl as I lay there in some semblance of a foetal position. I fully expect a horned tail to come crashing down on me. Instead, the dragon raises up, its chest swelling. I can hear a slow, long intake of air and even that is deafening, like how I'd imagine a jet to sound. Finally, there's a roar above me and the frantic 'whooshing' of fire. Even with my eyes closed, everything seems bright. I see the flash of light and feel the heat before I see – and feel – nothing.